


darling, darling, darling

by orphan_account



Series: again and again [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Origin Story, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brienne is asked to write a story, so she writes theirs.This story looks at sexual assault in the GOT universe and in present day contexts. Light hearted story with heavy concepts.aka: How Jaime lost his hand in another lifetime. How their paths continue to cross again and again.





	1. Miss Fortune Never Closes The Door Behind Her

**Author's Note:**

> The reception to my first story was so sweet and enthusiastic, I had to open up the story line again. Like my previous work: heavy past events are talked about in the abstract, sometimes in detail. This story is about sexual assault and violence against women but with coping and catharsis between multiple characters. Proceed with caution!

She never used the hearth after it happened, even when winter was at its most cruel and she found herself needing a blanket or shawl to wear around the office. She tried putting a table, a filling cabinet, and even book storage in front of the bloody thing but they all wrecked her floor space. She was notorious for pacing when she had problems and had taken up yoga breaks in the afternoons. Not to mention the questions from students and professors as to why she covered such a beautiful fireplace became increasingly irritating.

 

Pod arranged electric candles, silk flowers, and fairy lights in place of the logs so there was at least something pretty to look at during the evenings. She secretly hoped the department offices would get renovated, like the sociology department had, getting rid of all the fireplaces and giving them built in bookshelves, or something more practical. The fake flickering of battery powered candles was enough to bring back exceedingly unpleasant memories when she was feeling exceptionally tired or morose.

 

~

 

Bolton was one of those quiet monsters. One of those men that got away with his schemes for so long because of his exceptionally good looks, wealth, and gold studded reputation. No student came forward until Brienne took the floor at a university town hall he was leading, asking why three of the students he was supervising for independent study projects broke down in her office that month. Why were there bruises around all their throats? The only thing those women had in common was extensive alone time with Bolton. Brienne’s questions raised a tidal wave of others. Anonymous letters to the university president from alleged victims detailing violent assaults got the ball rolling.

 

Bolton’s forced suspension attracted news outlets from across Westeros. The department hearing yielded several more witnesses and victims with names a faces: failing students pressured into sleeping with their professor to pass, aspiring academics promised teaching assistantships for sexual favors, and underclassmen who always felt like they needed a shower after seminar because of his hands-on teaching style and vulgar jokes. Most shocking were the two young women who went to office hours and left drunk, terrified, and with no memory of the past few hours.

 

Jaime, one of the only professors in the department without a personal relationship to the man, had supervised the campus security sweep of Bolton’s office. He had been the one to key open the filing cabinet, revealing the drawer with a false bottom that hid a collection of underwear and a flask of drugged mead. It was Jaime’s report that convinced the department chair, university president, and campus lawyers to act immediately.

 

But it was Brienne that Bolton fixated on.

 

Just like a TV crime procedural: the arraignment was a joke. Bolton was released on bail to await trial. He didn’t waste any time using that to his advantage.

 

~

 

“Brienne.” Jaime rapped his knuckles on the door frame. She jumped. “Shit. Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“One minute.” She started to pack it in for the night. Jaime came in, closing the door and leaning back against it.

 

“Where were you?” He asked.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“If you were staring at the fireplace any harder I think it would have melted.” He teased, nodding towards the point in space she had been staring at. “You were somewhere else. Reminiscing on past heroics?” She cringed.

 

“Don’t call it that.” He strode forward, perching himself on the edge of her desk. She sank back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, knowing full well what his face looked like when he wanted an explanation and knowing full well he was making that exact face right now. “Got a call this morning. I’ve been asked to write a piece for the New Northerner.” When she finally met his gaze she found him beaming.

 

“It was only a matter of time. The most historic and well circulated magazine in Westeros was well overdue for an Evenstar contribution. Thousands and thousands of readers. Congratulations, Bri.” He picked up her hand and held it against his thigh. “What about?”

 

“They want me to write about Bolton. The whole story start to finish, from my perspective.” His eyes widened.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yah.” She cleared her throat and squeezed his hand. “It’s a series by and for assault survivors. It’s important work.”

 

“So you’re thinking…nobody can do it better than you, but why the fuck did they ask you?”

 

“Exactly. Precisely.” He brought her hand up to kiss the back of it. Her gaze fell to his other arm. He had discarded his prosthetic for the day. The sleeve was rolled up. She was so used to seeing him without his right hand and wrist that it startled her to see pictures of him before the incident, even though she’d known him fairly well before it all occurred.

 

“Did they give you time to consider it?” He asked.

 

“Yes. A week to decide, a month to write.”

 

“Very generous.”

 

“Mmhm.”

 

“Let’s go home. I’m starving. You can think out loud and I can hyperextend my last braincell trying to be helpful.” She smiled gratefully as she stood, kissing him on the forehead before gathering up her things.

 

“It’s just as much your story as it is mine.” She said as they left the building together, stepping out into a crisp evening. All the trees on the Riverland University campus were aflame with color. Fall was here at last. He considered her observation for a few beats as they fell into step together, shoulders and hips bumping because they walked too close together. He slipped his short arm around her waist.

 

“Its where our stories overlapped for the first time.” He decided.

 

“We crossed paths well before then.”

 

“Swords, more like it.” She chuckled. “I don’t think we had any sort of particularly meaningful conversations until after that, when you came to the hospital.” She wrinkled her nose. “We were knit together in the wake of it.”

 

“I don’t like the idea of your maiming being the impetus for this relationship.” He laughed.

 

“I think it was just the first step in a series of important ones.” He corrected her, squeezing her to his side gently. She nodded her agreement. “It was certainly my comeuppance.”

 

“You didn’t need a comeuppance.”

 

“You say that now.” He teased. She rolled her eyes.

 

“You didn’t need to experience pain and trauma to develop as a human being. You were already well on your way.”

 

“It certainly helped.” They came to a cross walk and waited for the light. He turned towards her, taking her bag and shouldering it himself. He looked pensive. She reached up to stroke his cheek and smiled when it made him smile. She touched her brow to his affectionately before they resumed their walk home. “As a principle of humanity, I would agree.” He continued. “Pain is never necessary for growth. But in terms of my arc, I believe losing my hand rightfully rearranged my priorities and exposed my prior foolishness in a way that would have never otherwise happened. Put it all in perspective, I guess. Suddenly I could very clearly see that who I was didn’t match up with who I wanted to be. And that I cared about you far more deeply than I had intended. Or cared it admit, for that matter.”

 

“Your arc? Who’s writing this story?” She teased him, reaching down to stroke the blunt end of his arm. It didn’t feel like scar tissue anymore. Just his skin.

 

“ _All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players_ …” He quoted.

 

“You hate _As You Like It_.” She said.

 

“Least favorite Shakespearean play, most favorite monologue.”

 

“Ah. I see.” He squeezed her waist again. It was a particular relief to enter their shared home this evening. They ate leftover Chinese food on the couch and watched an episode of a documentary-series on Scientology, pressed together shoulder to hip. He had drawn her bent right leg into his lap, idly massing and stroking her knee and thigh as he got more and more absorbed in the show. Their mutual fondness of cult documentaries continued to amuse her. They really needed to find a better way to relax at the end of the day.

 

And yet she yawned and sighed, feeling a considerable amount of tension bleed out of her body. The food and alcohol had settled her down. Now she just wanted a long shower and a change of clothes so they could lie together in bed and forget about the world for awhile. She took a long drink of wine and then took his chin in her hand, turning his face towards hers so she could kiss him properly. He sank into it after his initial surprise, sliding his hand into her hair to hold her closer. He kept it ever so gentle and tender, printing chaste kisses on her jaw as she sucked in a breath.“Is it worth it?”

 

“He can’t hurt you again.” Jaime said softly, squeezing the back of her neck.

 

“He could try.”

 

“He can’t and he won’t.” He said more firmly. “Last I checked I’m fifth or sixth in line to take out the bastard’s spinal cord if he so much as thinks of leaving Skagos.” She had never seen the island herself, but the northern prison village was high security. If he lived to see a parole board, the terms would likely keep him on the northern coast.

 

“People will talk.” She scanned his face.

 

“They do little else.” He shrugged.

 

“I might do it horribly.”

 

“You won’t. I can help. People you trust can proof it. You can ask for student inputs and contributions, give them co-author credits for their labor. We can hold a department meeting about it and put all of our names on it alongside yours. You don’t have to do it alone. Unless you want to, of course. In which case a disclosure of personal bias would be sufficient enough, letting everyone know you speak for yourself and no one else involved. There’s no one way to approach this.” She bit her bottom lip, realizing she was running out of cons in her mental t-chart of consequences.

 

“Everyone will know how you lost your hand.”

 

“Don’t worry about me. Tell the story that needs to be told, just as you think it should be told.” The corner of her mouth ticked up. He smiled back and kissed it. “Now to answer your original question…” She giggled, realizing he never provided a direct response. He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “If the process doesn’t overtax you, if it doesn’t steal away your peace or mental health…I think it’s absolutely worth it. Stories save people. That’s something you and I both believe.” She nodded. “I think this story in particular can reach the thousands that need to hear a voice who triumphed. Who made it to the other side. Who thrived despite their circumstances.” She blinked back a few tears. “Am I making any sense?” She pressed the back of her hand to his temple. 

 

“Too much sense. How overheated is that last brain cell?” He snorted. She fussed with the short hairs around his temple while mulling it all over. “I think you’re right, Jaime.”

 

“Hey Siri, add that recording to my ringtones.” She groaned and shoved him. He gathered her close again and kissed her repeatedly.

 

Their nightly routined commenced in a heavenly boring fashion. They finished their bottle of wine. They cleaned up the kitchen and took turns in the master bathroom, retiring for the evening with some grading and emails.

 

“Do you use the fireplace in your office?” She asked idly, typing up a response to a student question.

 

“Mm. No.” Jaime sighed. “I much prefer ours.” There was an old fashion wood stove downstairs in the living room. It had a door that shut. They used the flattop to cook up popcorn and warm up tea kettles. “I just ordered a short little bookshelf. I think it will fit in the hearth. I’m running out of room.”

 

“Good idea.” She looked up to find him reading a paperback, slouched against their headboard, looking far more handsome in her obnoxious red sweatpants than anyone had a right too. He looked up.

 

“What is it?” She leaned over to kiss him. He laughed and kissed her back, nipping at her bottom lip playfully. She snickered and pulled back, ruffling his hair.

 

“You need a haircut.”

 

“Oh you and your sweet-talk.” He caught her around the shoulders, keeping her against his chest. She sighed and scrolled through her phone, getting comfortable under his chin. He put his book down so he could kiss the top of her head and pull on her thigh, attempting to get her closer. “C’mere, wench.”

 

“Try again.”

 

“Stay still, sweetling.” She kissed his chest.

 

“One more time.”

 

“I love you, Brienne.”  



	2. I Know This Room

_content warning: women refer to their abusers, discuss their thoughts regarding assault, and a brief outline of a physical assault and attempted rape_

 

One exceptionally lazy weekend later, Brienne had practically forgotten about the task before her. Come Monday morning, her desk planner to do list reminded her of a previous intention to respond to the magazine publisher as soon as possible. She hummed and pinched the bridge of her nose, sitting back in her chair. Jaime breezed through, bringing her an iced latte from the campus coffee shop and a swift kiss before jetting to his lecture.

 

“Thought you might need a boost. Don’t think too much.” He reminded her, ever so helpful. She laughed, booting up her computer. Her phone rang before she could do anything else.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Dr. Brienne Evenstar?”

 

“Speaking.”

 

“Senator Stark is calling from a private line. Hold please.” Brienne smiled.

 

“Sorry about that.” Sansa apologized. “Some capital hill idiot’s email got hacked so now everyone’s getting logged and monitored.”

 

“Hello, my lady. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Something rustled on Sansa’s line, as if she were getting comfortable, followed by the distinct sound of high heels hitting the ground.

 

“Do you have time to talk?”

 

“Of course. I don’t teach on Mondays.” Brienne got up to close the door to ward off any colleagues or students. “How are you?” They talked shop for awhile and then about nothing at all. It lifted Brienne’s spirits.

 

Even when Sansa was far away she could make it feel like old times, spending hours in Catelyn Stark’s offices at Winterfell University piecing together research manuscripts and talking about turning all of Westeros on its ear through policy, education, and brute force if necessary. Catelyn Stark had been advising Brienne’s masters thesis in literary history and modern day pedagogy. Sansa was a brilliant pre-law undergrad with double minors in economics and social justice. Catelyn didn’t have to nudge hard to make fast friends out of the two.

 

“Did you get a call from Yara Greyjoy last week?” Sansa asked, half a beat after Brienne finished bringing her up to date on the classes she was teaching this semester.

 

“I did.” Brienne cleared her throat. “She asked me to write for the New Northerner.”

 

“Me as well.” Sansa said. Brienne was suddenly awash with relief.

 

“For the women and violence series?”

 

“The very same. I think they’re calling it _From the Women of Westeros, With Love_. Or something similar. It’s awful sounding. Anyway, what did you tell her?”

 

“I’m almost ready to agree.” Brienne fidgeted with a pen. “But it took a lot thought. A lot.”

 

“We are of the same mind then.” Sansa sighed. “I trust Yara.”

 

“Do you? When she was in the senate you were often at odds.” Greyjoy was a famous jack of all trades. She had served as a hard ass legislator at several levels before moving into international justice and social activism. Editing the New Northerner was just a side gig. Brienne had heard several universities, Riverland included, were hoping to lure her into a teaching position.

 

“Our economic priorities are certainly different. We locked horns a few times. That’s probably why I like her so much.” They laughed. “She’s fierce. Very knowledgeable and a responsible activist. I think this is going to feed into her next campaign. Rumor has it she’s building a lobby for another protection act. One that helps prosecute sexual violence against women and girls as a hate crime. It would change everything.”

 

“I knew this was big. Inevitably political.” Brienne bit her lip. “I don’t hate the idea. It’s just…a strange vulnerable thing to do. Why me? Why us?”

 

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t frightened.” Sansa agreed.

 

“Bolton still claims innocence. He has supporters.”

 

“And the New Northerner’s got millions of fucking readers and subscribers. You know Good Morning Westeros and Time and all the major networks will want follow up interviews. Probably a god awful spotlight photoshoot where we all wear black turtle necks.”

 

“Bite your tongue.” Brienne almost crossed herself as they laughed.

 

“Ramsay is dead, at least.” Sansa suddenly became serious. Brienne’s blood ran a little cold. “Dead and long gone. But it always feels like he might be lying in wait.”

 

“I know.” Brienne attempted to soothe her, wishing she were present to hold her hand. “I know.” Sansa sniffed. “I still dream about. Still wake up tasting blood in my mouth. I used to swear up and down that I wasn’t raped. I was assaulted and that the assault was sexualized but-”

 

“They both steal your mind in the same way. They both come from the same sort of person.” Sansa finished.

 

“Yes.” Brienne agreed. “I can’t sleep unless I’ve seen every corner of the house and opened every closet. It’s been years now.”

 

“Yara’s on to something though. This is more than the _Me Too_ movement. It was a political act against both of us. They didn’t like what we said or the way we walked or what we wore…so they chose physical subjugation. I want to talk about it. I really do. I could scream. But I’d feel much better knowing we were doing this together. Keeping each other propped up, I guess. Could we read and review each other’s work?”

 

“Of course. Absolutely.” Brienne sucked in a breath. “Jaime said something to me the other night that made a lot of sense.”

 

“Really?” Sansa teased. "You must be rubbing off on him. Finally."

 

“Yes really. He said there’s a need for voices on the other side of the act. Voices that thrived despite of and because of their circumstances. I realized how badly I needed to hear a voice like that. You can always find people speaking about the acts and the legal contact…almost never about recovery. They call us survivors, but right now I don’t even know what that means.”

 

“Son of a bitch. Tyrion basically said the same thing to me.” Brienne snorted. “But I agree with tweedle dumb and dumber. Lately they’ve both been very wise.” They laughed together. “I’ll do it if you do, Brienne. Let’s publish our dirty laundry.”

 

“Sansa…” Brienne chuckled and shook her head. “Let’s do it.”

 

~

 

Brienne pushed through her regular Monday routine, grading and holding office hours and tackling odds and ends that she didn’t have time to address during the week while teaching and going to meetings. Around three she finally had time to think again. She pulled out a legal pad and unloaded the thoughts buzzing around her brain.

 

* I accused him.  
* He was suspended.  
* He was investigated, arrested, and arraigned.  
* He was released on bail to await trial.  
* He came to the university and attacked me when I was alone.  
* Jaime intervened.  
* Struggle.  
* We subdue him (?).  
* Jaime reaches for me.  
* He leaps up, knocks me across the room, pushes Jaime into the fire. Holds his arm down.  
* They struggle.  
* I hit him with the fire poker. Hard.  
* I hold Jaime’s head in my lap. We’re all very hurt.  
* Paramedics take us all to the hospital.  
* Police take him to prison.  
* The burns are too severe. Jaime loses his

 

Gods, she couldn’t even finish the notes. She rips the paper off the pad and shreds it. Her memories of the events are even choppier. Less complete. They told her trauma was like that. Bolton’s breath on her neck. Bolton hitting and kicking her in the chest and groin. Bolton’s hand down her pants. Jaime’s hands on her waist and face, pulling her back. Bolton’s blood on her hands. Jaime’s head in her lap. The terrible, terrible burning smell. The ambulance. The hospital. The deafening silence of the aftermath.

 

Brienne huffed, throwing herself out of her chair to pace. They had moved everyone’s offices one door to the right the week after. The room where it happened was storage now. She never went in. She spent several months rearranging her furniture and shelves to make the new space look as different as possible. That helped considerably.

 

Did readers even care about the details of that night? Certainly not. But they would need some. Certainly how she survived. Gods knows what would have happened had Jaime not helped. Gods knows what would have happened if she hadn’t felt so drawn to his bedside the following month. His physical therapy sessions. His bloody apartment. Did she dare ask what he remembered? Did any of it really matter?

 

“Wearing out the carpet again?” Jaime asked from across the hall. He was returning from his class, dropping off his bag and empty coffee thermos on his desk. 

 

“Mmm.” She answered, noncommittal.

 

“There are much better ways to break in an area rug.” He teased as he let himself in and closed the door behind him, plopping down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He bounced an eyebrow and kicked his feet up on the edge of her desk. “What’s rattling around that big beautiful brain of yours?”

 

“Not much.” Brienne crossed her arms and leaned back on one of her bookshelves. “Sansa’s writing a piece for the New Northerner as well. And I…so badly wish Catelyn Stark were here.” Jaime softened immediately.

 

“If she were here, what do you think she would she say?” He asked after a long beat. Brienne smiled faintly.

 

“Write fast. Edit slow.”

 

“Excellent advice from an excellent woman.”

 

“Truly.” Brienne sighed, refocusing. One of Jaime’s legs was bouncing and he was tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Too much coffee?”

 

“No, just a call from the university publishing house.” It took her a full minute staring at his stupid smile to realize what he was saying.

 

“Your draft…Jaime, your draft…”

 

“Picked up. They loved it. It’s going to the copyeditor.” She all but yanked him out of the chair to throw her arms around him.

 

“Now that’s good news.”

 

“Thank you.” He sighed with relief, kissing the side of her head and neck. “Now-” He pulled back, catching her face in his hand. “If I can do it, so can you.”

 

“My stakes are hardly as high. You’ve been working on that draft since before we met.” She squeezed his wrist and kissed his palm. The incident had slowed him down considerably, but he had finished the manuscript a few months ago.

 

“It’s been a long haul.” He agreed. “Your sprint will hurt just as bad. So if you need a distraction, I need someone to write a forward for the text-” She laughed.

 

“Nobody wants to read a forward by another academic. You need a big name.”

 

“You’re name is big. And you’re piece will be published by then. People will be seeking you out.”

 

“You’re awfully confident.” She slipped out of his reach, moving to sit behind her desk again but she wasn’t quite fast enough. A finger in her belt loop brought her back to his orbit.

 

“One thing at a time, then. But know that you’re my first choice.” He kissed her cheek.

 

“You’re not going to make a second or third choice, are you?”

 

“Probably not.” She crossed her arms and attempted to look stern but just ended up blushing, which only amused him further.

 

"Fool." She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. 

 

An administrative assistant knocked on the door and let herself in, looking highly embarrassed when she realized what she had walked in on. Brienne jumped. Jaime laughed and, for the sake of the poor grad student, took a step away.

 

“Apologies, Dr. Evenstar.”

 

“Nonsense, Chloe.” Brienne signed for the library books being delivered to her. The assistant high tailed it out of the room, letting the door slam shut. Brienne glared at Jaime.

 

“Wanna make out?”

 

“Don’t you have something better to do?”

 

“Take you home.”

 

“Be gone.” She flicked a hand at him. He swooped across the desk to steal a sloppy kiss before going back to his own office, leaving both their doors open as he went.

 


	3. Rip It Out, Let Us Hold It

She took a week off to do it. Outside of the mandatory university holidays, she couldn’t recall ever cashing in a personal day. She wasn’t one to play hooky. Even Jaime, the physical embodiment of leisure and spontaneity, couldn’t persuade her to call in sick and spend a day in bed in with him. It was fairly early in the semester, so she was certain her students wouldn’t fall behind or terribly miss out on anything. She pre-recorded some short lectures, sent them out, and then logged out of her email account.

 

It was time to get it done.

 

Everyone was quickly under the impression that she was ill. Jaime kept his small talk vague to keep up the cover. Nobody wanted to bother an ill woman. While Jaime went through his everyday routine of teaching, grading, researching, and pretending to pay attention in university meetings…she wrote.

 

Four hours before lunch and three hours after. Five days in a row. Jaime gently coaxed her out of the study for dinner each evening. He was lovely about providing distractions via rented movies and bottles of wine. He held her. Soothed her. Never questioned her. He tucked her into bed each night without expectations or suggestions, swallowing his normal daily invitation to fool around. One night she reached for him and pulled off his shirt. He slipped between her thighs and kept it gentle.

 

Friday afternoon she printed the document. All 62 pages of it.

 

All her unedited thoughts stacked together like that felt like a brick in her hands. Inside was the sequence of events, inner narratives, rambles, hopes, and attempts to communicate hope and power to readers. It needed to be shaved down to at least 15 pages before sending it out to the magazine team for formatting and editing, but she was glad to have poured everything out in one go. The magazine wouldn’t need over half of what she had written, but now she had her own record which chronicled the villain that tried to steal her life, the awful event, her recovery, and the parallel way her partner became such a permanent fixture in her life. She never understood writers who spoke about giving birth to their work but she was starting to get where the sentiment was coming from. A knot had been loosened somewhere deep inside her being. 

 

She left the work on their shared desk in the study and then left the room for good, taking the longest and hottest shower possible. She thought the desk chair might have left permanent imprints on her arse and spine. Brienne only managed to change into a clean tee shirt before crawling into bed and closing her eyes. When she exhaled she felt like she had finished running an uphill marathon. Her head was blissfully and totally empty. It was all on paper now.

 

When she opened her eyes again it was dark outside and Jaime was curled around her back, still wearing his work clothes. He kissed the back of her neck hello but stayed quiet.

 

“Did you read it?” She asked softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

 

“No. Do you want me to?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’ll help you edit.” He doubled his grip, pushing a thigh between her knees to keep her close. She suddenly felt very secure. And warm. “Are you okay?”

 

“Not sure yet.”

 

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered. She reached up to grip his hand. Where it rested on her stomach. She didn’t realize she was crying until he leaned up and over to kiss the tear tracks away. She fell onto her back and pulled him into her arms, pulling him closer until they were a tangle of limbs and bedding and clothes. He kissed the corners of her eyes and both temples.

 

“I can't think about it without thinking about you. Do you remember anything about that night? Besides the pain?” She asked, swallowing hard. He kissed her forehead repeatedly. Left side, center, and then right.

 

“I remember…seeing him on top of you. I remember tussling. I remember being pushed.” He kissed her lips. “I remember not feeling any pain until waking up in the hospital. But I also remember…your hand was on my forehead.” He mimicked that caress then, gently covering her eyes in a soothing gesture before sweeping his fingers up and pulling her hair back from her brow. “You kissed the corner of my mouth. And then the pain put me to sleep. Everything else is bits and pieces.” He admitted.

 

“I wish it never happened.” He kissed her again.

 

“I know. Me too.” He whispered. There was a silent agreement that the document would not be touched or mentioned again. Not for awhile.

 

Jaime sat up enough to take off his clothes and drop them carelessly on the floor. They laid in each other’s arms for hours, ignoring a dozen phone notifications between their two devices.

 

“What kept bringing you back?” He asked an hour before midnight, pushing his hand up her shirt to trace each notch of her spine. She rubbed her cheek against their shared pillow and tightened the arm she had around his neck. “You were at every physical therapy appointment. You came to my apartment twice a week until I was back to work. Drug my depressed arse to the shower and the counseling sessions and the hot springs. You should have been crumbling with grief and rage but you were keeping me alive. You were kind. Did you feel guilty?”

 

“I’d been in trouble like that before. I had always handled it myself. Nobody...nobody ever helped me like that.” She whispered. “You never once blamed me. Even when the pain medication made you delirious. You screamed about Bolton and the university but never me.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“It felt like it at first.” She shrugged. His fingers reached the top of her spine. He made his way back down again, ever so slowly. “I wanted to apologize to you. So badly.”

 

“We didn’t talk much then.”

 

“No. Not until your sense of humor came out of hibernation.” He chuckled. Their interactions were humorous at first. _Kingslayer. Wench_. They were all tight nods and terse silence most of the time. “We never talked about what happened. Not really.” He brushed his nose against hers and leaned his forehead against hers.

 

“Before your father’s funeral…a little bit, at least. We agreed it was one of those turning points.”

 

“Yah.” She agreed. “It was.”

 

“You can ask me anything.” He reminded her, kneading her hip. “I don’t mind.

 

“Do you regret it?” There was no fear in her question, just genuine curiosity.

 

“No. Never. Not even once.”

 

“Truthfully?”

 

“I would do it again and again.” He swore. “Any lifetime. Any version of reality. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

 

“Why on Earth wouldn’t you?”

 

“Because you matter. You matter so much to me. I want you safe, more than anything. My hand doesn’t matter that much. Well, maybe it did.” He smiled playfully. “But then you came along and-” She smacked her hand over his mouth before he could make a dirty joke about her filling in for his right hand _just fine_.

 

“You didn’t know me that well yet.” She reminded him. He sobered. 

 

“Doesn’t make you any less worthy of the sentiment.” He mumbled, kissing her fingers. She smiled again, sliding her hand down his jaw to feel his soft beard. She traced his bottom lip with her thumb. “I can't explain it. It felt natural. I had a choice. I made the right choice. It’s the last thing on earth keeping me up at night. You being here with me now is a perk, though. Definite perk. Makes it worth it. Every time.”

 

“It’s getting harder to remember what it feels like to not be in love with you. I think I’m getting rather used to it.” She moved then, sliding onto her stomach and then hovering up on an elbow. He always slid his short arm under her pillow and neck when they laid together. She kissed what was left of his wrist. The inside of his elbow. His bicep and shoulder.

 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, realizing they skipped dinner.

 

“A little.”

 

They navigated the kitchen in their underwear, throwing together hearty scrambles of eggs, potatoes, onions, bacon, and chive. They ate together on the floor of their living room. When she finished she stretched out on the rug, closing her eyes and trying to breathe mindfully.

 

He took the opportunity to kiss her legs from ankle to hip, throwing off the rhythm of the breathing exercise. She memorized the heat of his mouth and the scrape of his facial hair instead. The firmness of his kisses. The overwhelming feeling blooming in her chest that came with being so adored. Wanted. Needed. The chain he always wore around his neck drug against the inside of her thigh. Her own mother’s ring, the pendent anchoring the silver links, was as warm as his skin.

 

She touched its twin, her father’s ring, which was still hanging from her neck this evening. When she opened her eyes he was lazily sucking kisses just above the waistband of her briefs. She noticed a vase of flowers on the coffee table that hadn’t been there the night before. Yellow roses. They were exceptionally beautiful.

 

“Did you buy those?” She asked.

 

“Mmm. Tyrion sent them for you.” She smiled, carding her fingers through his hair.

 

“Where is he this week?” Jaime paused his affections, smiling as he rested his cheek on her stomach.

 

“The Reach. He told me he’s planning on dropping by next weekend, I think he’s trying to convince Sansa to take a day off and come with him.”

 

“That would be lovely.” When she sat up and crossed her legs he shifted down and turned on his back, leaving his head in her lap. She took a drink of water and pinched his cheek. “This is how I held you that night.” She remarked offhandedly.

 

“Was it really?” The twenty minutes spent waiting on paramedics felt like hours. Bolton bleeding and unconscious on the carpet while she tried to put out the flames engulfing Jaime’s arm. The frigid shock moved like ice down her spine. He reached for her hand, linking their fingers and kissing the back of her wrist. She shook off the mental image of those third degree burns and damaged muscle, skin pierced and wrecked by the hearth grate. He inhaled deeply. “I was never pure, you know.”

 

“Humans rarely are, Jaime.”

 

“What did you know about me before that night?”

 

“Good question.” She had to think about that one. “You called me wench. Exclusively.” Jaime barked out a laugh. “You had a very self righteous humor. A pinch off color. But I knew you were always trying to get a reaction out of people.”

 

“Apologies.”

 

“Hush.” She thought it over some more, trying to picture him exactly as he was when they first met. Longer hair. Less beard and more stubble. “I knew you were the Kingslayer and that the title was wildly unfair.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“Dr. King was mad. He was pulling a gun on students in the quad. How many people would have died if you didn’t pin him down?”

 

“How many students have nightmares because they only thing they saw was me snapping the fool’s neck on impact?”

 

“Hush.” She smoothed a hand over his cheek again. “I knew your name. Jaime Lannister. I had seen it in the papers every week for years, next to Cersei and Tywin.” And she knew everything between the lines of those tabloid articles too. She knew about the bed he shared with his sister as teenagers and young adults. She knew about the awful dreams that followed him. She knew about the venture capitalist turned war monger that was Tywin Lannister, who funded militia activity in an attempt to start wars between countries. And she knew about the godawful childhood that resulted in three bizarre, struggling Lannister children.

 

“You watched the trials. You saw my brother fighting alcoholism. You saw my father go to prison for soliciting and abusing multiple sex workers, battering and coercing an underaged girl in the process…and you watched my sister take the fall for his vicious political crimes which wiped out entire families and destabilized the poorest regions of Westeros…it’s no wonder you never smiled at me.”

 

“I didn’t smile much then.”

 

“The light leaving your eyes was noticeable.”

 

“Well….you have that effect on people sometimes.” She teased. They laughed dryly before picking up their dishes and leaving them in the sink. They were too tired to do anything else but go back to bed, lying limply below the covers.

 

“The point is, I don’t think we ruin each other.” Brienne raised an eyebrow at that. “When you asked me earlier, if I had any regrets-“ He clarified, “I never framed it as you taking something from me. I gave willingly. You always showed me kindness and decency, knowing what you knew beforehand and then what you came to know afterwards.” She smiled then, looking very soft and fond suddenly.

 

“I’ve never believed in the sins of the father.”

 

“Thank fuck for that.” She giggled.

 

“You’ve always tried to do the right thing. Even in the beginning, when you enjoyed playing the fool. You and Cersei were victims of Tywin and then of each other. But you aren’t her. You were never her. She tried to destroy you. I think you told me once that we don’t choose who we love, and that might be true, but you chose a different life on blind faith. You chose something more. Tyrion too. I admire you both so much for it.”

 

“And you love me? Despite everything?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Her eyes were shining now.

 

“I’m as surprised as you are.”

 

“OUCH. Evenstar with the jokes tonight.” He kissed her, but it was hard with how much she was smiling. “Pleased with yourself?”

“Very.” She turned serious again. “I love _you_ endlessly. Truly and deeply. Because of everything, not despite it. I don’t see your father or your sister. I don’t care about them. Sometimes I’ll think about what you did or what happened to you before we met…but it’s usually when I’m trying to understand you. Never to spite or curse you.” She reached up to wipe a stray tear off his cheek. He sniffed, embarrassed but not ashamed.

 

“I love you just the same. I don’t see a misplaced source of blame.” He lifted his short arm for emphasis. “I just see a woman that loves me more than I can ever comprehend. Never doubt that.” He kissed her again. They were exhausted from the conversation but lighter for having had it “I don’t have anything to hide from you. I never want to have anything I think I should hide from you.” He continued.

 

“My father used to say that it’s hard to hide anything with the lights on.” She stroked the side of his face. “Never walk away from me without telling me everything that’s on your mind.”

 

“Ditto.” He breathed, kissing her again and again. “I must have been searching for you for centuries.” She tried to hide a yawn. He kissed her nose.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

“There’s no other rational explanation for how happy I am.” 


	4. Crack the Old Yoke, We'll Carve Out a New One

Her late afternoon seminar was large. It was a conversation based course but it took place in a lecture hall. She would always give a short intro, a 30 minute talk or so, but she genuinely enjoyed throwing the reins to the class. Everyone actually did the readings and even recommended additional content. Pod was her TA for the second semester in a row, becoming a sharper scholar by the minute. History of Gender and Sexuality 101 was becoming as much a passion project for him as it was her; cross pollinating students and content from English, History, and Sociology departments. It was definitely her favorite class thus far.

 

Today’s topic was the nude body in contemporary film. The conversation was lively. Ten minutes after class was supposed to end nobody was even starting to pack up or taper off. She spotted Jaime sneaking in and slipping into an empty chair on the back row, fist bumping a few of his own students before sitting. He smiled and winked at her. Brienne took a deep breath and waited for the current speaker to finish making his point.

 

“Very good analysis, Aaron. Before I take the bars off the door and set you free for the evening-“ There was hushed laughter and the class settled down to listen to her. “I just wanted to ask…how many of you were enrolled when Vargo Hoat-Bolton taught here? If this is a triggering conversation, please don’t let me keep you from enjoying your evening.” Two women quietly left. At least ten students raised their hands, signaling they had witnessed the man in the flesh. “I’ve been asked to publish an essay in the New Northerner on my own experiences with sexual assault in academia.” There was a collective intake of breath. “It’s going to be a part of a two month series in the journal where 8 women relate their own experiences. I’d very much appreciate student input, as this impacted all of us so deeply. So if you’re interested in giving me some advice or reading the working draft, please stop by office hours sometime this week. Whether you’re woman identified or not. Or even if you just want to talk about it. I’m all ears.” Everyone passed around smiles and gentle nods. “Hand your reading summaries and project proposals to Pod on your way out. Have a good weekend, everyone. Keep each other safe.”

 

The group trickled out in twos and threes. She and Pod exchanged some papers before she sent him home. She repacked her shoulder bag and cast an amused glance at Jaime, who was scrolling through his phone and tilting his chair back on two legs. “No phones in my classroom, Lannister.”

 

“Apologies Dr. Evenstar, just confirming our dinner reservations. Are you ready?”

 

“Very. I’ve been subsisting off coffee and force of will today.” He dramatically stood up and offered his arm as she jogged up the stairs to the top of the lecture theater.

 

“Come m’lady.” She rolled her eyes but slipped a hand behind his neck and let herself be kissed hello. He swept his hand down her back and over her arse. She knocked it away and shot him a look.

 

“Behave.”

 

“Sorry. I just love watching you work. Try it again.” She laughed, putting both hands on his face to kiss him a little more firmly. He fisted his hand in her shirt over the small of her back but students moving past the open door whistled at them. He popped his ankle in the air like a rom-com damsel to get more laughter, covering for Brienne furious blush and undignified squeak. They really needed to stop doing that on campus.

 

It was a short walk downtown. The restaurant was tucked in the top level of the tallest hotel in town. They were escorted to a corner table with cushy chairs and killer views. Jaime ordered two bottles of wine for the table and then poured them both a glass as they waited for their companions. When he noticed she was shivering a bit in the chill of the room he draped his blazer over her lap, along with his right arm.

 

“What did you do?” She asked.

 

“Hm?”

 

 

“Are you trying to make up for something?”

“Not a thing, love.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Let me love you, wench.” She narrowed her eyes. “I can’t be lovely without an ulterior motive?”

 

“No. You’re trouble.”

 

“Wasn’t that half of the appeal for you, Evenstar?”

 

“A well placed pillow in the night and I could be free of this.” She reminded herself.

 

“It’s cute how you think death will get you out of this relationship.” They continued to go back and forth, but Brienne brought her hand up to rub little circles with her fingers on the places on his arm where flesh met prosthetic beneath his shirt. He had forgotten to take it off before leaving campus today and if often got sore this time of day.

 

Tyrion and Sansa swept across the restaurant, almost perfectly in step with each other. The rest of the diners tried to make discreet glances and covert pictures. Harrenhal rarely brought in such famous senators outside of election season. Secret Service were casually posted at the elevator doors. No doubt they had made their way to the kitchens as well. Jaime leapt up to greet Tyrion.

 

“Brother!”

 

“You’re late, Ty. We were about to finish off a bottle by ourselves.”

 

“Nonsense. Order another.” Sansa put her arms around Brienne and kissed both her cheeks before stealing Jaime’s seat.

 

“Brienne! Gods am I glad to see you.”

 

“You look incredible, Madame Senator.” Tyrion poured them all another full glass of wine. Sansa reached for Brienne’s hand and snickered when she saw Jaime’s jacket blanketing her lap. Brienne thanked the seven for the lowlights and the sunset, which efficiently camouflaged her red cheeks.

 

“A toast, to these two brilliant women.” Tyrion raised his glass.

 

“Hear hear.” Jaime agreed, touching their glasses together.

 

“Remember the capital hill idiot I mentioned on the phone awhile back?” Sansa asked Brienne. She nodded. “A toast to Jaime Lannister, who as done what no security de-brief or professional security engineer has ever managed to accomplish…password protecting Tyrion’s fucking phone.” Tyrion faked a scandalized face as the three laughed and drank.

 

“I ought to get an honorary PhD for that one.” Jaime sighed.

 

“What, another one?” Tyrion fired back.

 

“Engarde you bastard, you watched me write that dissertation.”

 

“I know I did, I just assumed they gave you the diploma out of pity.” Dinner was an easy and lighthearted affair. The four talked shop. Tyrion’s senate term was drawing to a close but they all knew he was preparing a bid for the president’s counsel. He and Bran Stark spent a lot of time with their heads together lately. They made an odd but interesting pair. Sansa was running to represent the North for another term. So far she had no political challengers, so she was investing her campaign time on extended visits to as many cities as she could, particularly the villages and hamlets skirting the larger cities. She was becoming increasingly beloved. 

 

Brienne and Jaime pretended not to notice how quickly Tyrion took Sansa’s hand over the table when she casually extended it towards him mid-rant about some political talking head from the Stormlands. Sansa and Tyrion pretended not to notice how hard Brienne kicked Jaime’s foot under the table to prevent Jaime from making a big deal about it.

 

“I think I finished my New Northerner piece this morning.” Sansa said after they ordered a dessert course. She had just successfully coerced Brienne and Tyrion into sharing a massive portion of lemon cake with her. “Will you read it for me before I forward it to the copyeditors?” She asked Brienne.

 

“Of course.”

 

“How’s yours coming?”

 

“It’s fucking brilliant.” Jaime answered first. “But I am biased.” Tyrion groaned.

 

“Did you have to put his ugly mug in it?”

 

“Briefly.” Brienne prefaced.

 

“Good. Just like everything else the lad does.” Tyrion knuckled his brother’s cheek, who sighed and shrugged. The boys snickered and continued to cajole each other.

 

“I think I’m almost finished as well.” Brienne answered. “I’m taking a few more days to gather some input. The department is cosigning. Our chair is writing a postscript and I wanted to give students the opportunity to read and review.”

 

“Oh that’s brilliant.” Sansa beamed. Sansa’s lemon cake and Jaime’s massive slice of chocolate cake arrived and they began to tuck in the sweets while sipping on black coffees. Tyrion looked around inconspicuously before pulling out his flask of whiskey and dropping a shot in all their mugs.

 

“Nice.” Jaime remarked.

 

“Do you like it? Varys had it engraved.” Sansa rested her head against Brienne’s shoulder, linking their arms together on the table.

 

“I thought about your mother a lot, while I was writing.” Brienne admitted.

 

“Mmm. Me too. Write fast, edit slow. That’s tattooed on my brain.” They laughed.

 

“That might be my second favorite Dr. Stark aphorism.” Jaime put his cheek in his hand.

 

“What’s the first?” Sansa asked, intrigued.

 

“Memorably bestowed on our very own Tywin Lannister: _You think I give a fuck? Get out of my office you demented old fool_.“ The four of them fell to pieces laughing. While Tyrion and Jaime bickered over the check Sansa took out her tablet and emailed Brienne her article, opening another web browser so Brienne could do the same.

 

“You should be so proud.” Brienne said, hesitating before putting a hand on her young friend’s shoulder. Sansa smiled again, squeezing Brienne’s fingers hard.

 

“It feels good. Really good. Like therapy, almost. I wrote like 50 pages without thinking about it and then cut the article out of that.”

 

“Same. It brought to light things I didn’t think or know needed to be brought to light.” Brienne agreed, glancing up at Jaime. “I’m really glad we’re doing this.” Sansa pulled her hair over her shoulder and vigorously nodded her agreement.

 

“Arya says hello, by the way, and that she misses sparring so much she might be making to trip to Harrenhal soon.”

 

“I saw that she’s not running for the House of Representatives again.” Arya had practically been handed a government position representing the North when nobody showed interest in the office. She had done good work, but had quickly gained notoriety for swearing up a storm on the legislative floor and breaking all the rules she could.

 

“Politics left a bad taste in her mouth. She inspired a group of more eager youngsters to fill the seat. I don’t blame her for quitting while she's ahead.”

 

“What will she do?”

 

“Take some time off to start with.”

 

“Well earned.”

 

“My sister’s heart isn’t happy if it’s still. I think she’ll travel. Far and wide.”

 

“I hope she sees everything.”

 

“Me too.” Sansa smiled then. “She’s mentioned loads of things too. Going back to school for law. Opening up self defense schools for women. Writing. Teaching. I think she’ll try her hand at anything.”

 

“Let her know I’m always here to help.” Brienne said. “And what about Jon?”

 

“Still collecting samples north of the wall for some godforsaken reason.” Sansa groaned. “At least Giantsbane and company joined him. Now they have a proper lab going.”

 

“They did say they weren’t stopping until they had solutions to combat climate change for the native people.” Brienne recalled.

 

“Tormund is a Wilding himself…” Sansa mused. “Do you think they-?”

 

“God I hope so.” Brienne murmured, taking a long drink. Sansa giggled.

 

“I’m sure Dr. Giantsbane has attention enough for both of you.”

 

“Next time you see Jon, tell him to keep the bloody fool and his wandering eyes north of the wall as long as possible.” Brienne said, setting her mug down a little too hard.

 

“Listen, you dumbass.” Tyrion’s voice broke through their back and forth. “It’s not even my money, it’s the government’s.” He snatched the check with finality.

 

“Lower your voice, you tyrant.” Jaime elbowed him. “You want to see that quote on the Sunday paper?”

 

“Considering my next engagement is with the most royal Lords of Essos? Maybe. They’d respect that. Unlike you. Fucking nerd.”

 

“My tenure will outlive your constituents.”

 

“You see this?” He pointed at Sansa and Brienne and then his brother. “We didn’t bully him enough as a child and now he thinks he’s Mother Theresa.” Jaime made the sign of the cross over Tyrion’s head.

 

“Oooh there’s a campaign slogan. Tyrion Lannister: bully the dumbass out of Westeros 2020.” Sansa sighed wistfully.

 

The four parted ways slowly. Sansa squeezed Jaime’s hands hard enough to hurt and kissed Brienne again, hugging her tightly. Tyrion embraced them both, a little wobbly on his heals. One of Sansa’s guards drove Jaime and Brienne home.

 

She got a text from Sansa as soon as she walked through the door: _Fucking hells, Brienne. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect._ It took her a minute to realize Sansa must have immediately started reading her draft. It made her heart pound and tears spring to her eyes. She changed into some leggings and a soft tunic before sweeping into the study to read Sansa’s piece. Jaime joined her after a half hour, sitting on the floor and resting his chin on her thigh.

 

“How is it?”

 

“Powerful. She focuses more on the social implications of gendered violence and how that shaped her lifespan and career, before and after her assault. I bet they open the series with this.” Brienne quietly reached for a tissue, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. He kissed her knee in a comforting gesture. “I don’t think I would have survived what she went through.”

 

“What happened? There was a high school sweetheart before Ramsey, wasn’t there?”

 

“Yes. A foolish boy. Cracked her heart in two. Gave her a black eye and a broken nose before her father put an end to it and Catelyn sent her to university. She was a spectacular student, got herself through Winterfell’s law program. She met him there. He was finishing up his degree which she was starting it. He proposed before she graduated and they were married shortly afterwards.” Brienne swallowed, recalling the painful back to back series of events. Ned Stark’s murder. Catelyn’s death. “He was beating her and raping her. One or the other at least once a week.”

 

“Gods.” Jaime murmured, stroking her shin.

 

“Yah. Arya was trying to get her out, but he was starting his presidential nomination campaign. She felt so trapped. But one night he came at her with a gun and-”

 

“She did what Starks do best.” Jaime finished for her. Brienne smiled weakly.

 

“Survived.” She took a deep breath. “So what of your brother’s intentions?” She tweaked Jaime’s ear, attempting to lighten the mood. He groaned and buried his face against her hip.

 

“That was nauseating.”

 

“I think their little will-they-won’t-they game is coming to an end.”

 

“At what cost, Brienne? She’s so out of his league. I mean, she turned him down a few years back.”

 

“That was before they became friends. I think it’s sweet.” She squirmed when Jaime playfully nipped at a bit of her exposed skin.

 

“He does talk about her a lot. They do brilliant work together.” He conceded. “I should have a word with him about it.”

 

“Nosy.” She chided.

 

“You asked.” He huffed, lifting her shirt up to suck a kiss on her belly. “Mm, by the way…” He used her chair and the desk to stand up. She snorted at how loud his knees cracked. “I’m going to ignore that.” He kissed her on the lips. “There’s a copyediting draft in the desk drawer.” She immediately reached for it. A copy of his manuscript was punched and bound in a three ring binder. It was common practice at their university publishing house to send drafts to several critical readers in addition to their professional editing staff. Seeing it printed like this was breathtaking. “I know you’re probably sick of grammar checking for me, so consider it a keepsake.” She laughed.

 

“It’s beautiful.” She squeezed his hip. “Do you have a working title yet?”

 

“Somewhere in there. There’s a new preface and all the images have been placed too…” He yawned and stretched lazily. “Coming to bed?”

 

“There’s a few more things I wanted to do. Don’t wait up.”

 

“Oh I will. Don’t take too long.” He kissed her once more before padding upstairs. Brienne cleared her email inbox and set a plan for the weekend. She had some tasks to accomplish regarding her own research, as she had academic papers to submit for journal reviews this month. Not to mention midterms were just around the corner.

 

Before she powered down for the night, she couldn’t help reaching for Jaime’s manuscript. _Fighting Fire With Ice_. She grinned. Excellent title. The work was primarily about political cartoons as invective devices in public discourses, that is, the way communities articulated disdain and poked fun at politicians in images. The drafts she had read were witty and packed with historical analysis which drew a very definitive line between Westeros’ past power struggles to its current polarized political climate. It was a smart but accessible non-fiction read. She could see commercial and academic success in it already. It would probably land a secure spot in university Political Science, English, and Sociology course work across the country.

 

She flipped to the preface and quickly realized that the opening notes were unchanged, merely slipped behind a new page. A book dedication.

 

 _Thank you, Bri. It’s because of you. It’s always been because of you._  



	5. Never Knew An Aftermath Quite This Sweet

Responses came pouring in before she had even submitted the damn thing. Word of mouth and email made for a deadly combination in this case. Additionally, letting Jaime have a digital draft probably exacerbated the whole thing. Her colleagues all stopped by to physically congratulate her. Female professors from other departments that she had never met before embraced her at random, asking to meet for coffee or dinner sometime. She gathered 17 new contacts in less than a week.

 

The students that took her up on her preview offer were enthusiastic. Some of Bolton’s witnesses and survivors teared up right in her office, thanking her for voicing so many of their collective thoughts and experiences. And for doing it so well, no less. Some suggested some areas for tone and pronoun adjustment. She immediately applied their suggestions. Several young men stopped by to ask what they could be doing to ally themselves to their friends on campus. She got several good conversations out of it.

 

The phone rang at 6 am one Thursday morning. Jaime answered blearily.

 

“Whatever you want, it’s too early. Call back-“

 

“Hand the phone to Brienne, you dumb thot.”

 

“Who is this?” Jaime groaned.

 

“Never mind that, I called her cell, not yours.” Jaime pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted. Brienne giggled and pulled the duvet up to her chin.

 

“It appears so. Hold please…” Jaime rolled over, balancing her cellphone on her cheek and ear. “S’for you, babe.” Brienne choked on a laugh.

 

“Is that you, Arya?” She asked.

 

“Little shit.” Jaime mumbled, cuddling up to Brienne’s back.

 

“Good morning, Brienne. I just wanted to tell you how insanely good your article is. I was dumbfounded after reading it. Honest to gods speechless.” Jaime nosed the back of her neck, smiling. Brienne leaned back into his embrace and sighed.

 

“Thank you. Sincerely. That’s high praise.” There was a crackle of an intercom on Arya’s end of the line.

 

“I need to jump on a plane to Highgarden in a moment, but I also wanted to say that I can’t wait to see this published. I’ve known you for years now, but I don’t think I’ve ever told you just how much I admire you. I...I don’t think I knew pride in womanhood until I laid eyes on women like you. You’re an inspiration. It’s about time more people knew your name.” Arya said it all with that clipped, fast talking manner of hers. It made Brienne tear up.

 

“Gods, Arya.”

 

“Too much?”

 

“No. Not at all. Just know that a Stark woman made me who I am today and that Stark women continue to push me forward.” Arya inhaled sharply. Brienne hoped she was smiling.

 

“Hell yah, Brienne. Keep going. Always.” Arya said. “I ought to have time to stop by Harrenhal sometime soon. We're overdue for a rematch."

 

"I'll make reservations at the fencing studio, just let me know."

 

"Tell the fucker next to you he can go back to bed now.”

 

“I can hear you loud and clear.” Jaime moaned. Brienne laughed and reached back to caress his hip.

 

“Can you hear the hand gestures I’m making right now, Lannister?”

 

“I’ll just fill in the blanks myself.”

 

“Get some beauty sleep, asshole. You need it.”

 

“Good night…I mean morning.” Brienne said, barely containing her laughter.

 

“Good morning, Dr. Evenstar. Text me if you need anything.” Brienne hung up and let her phone fall to the bed. Jaime gave an exasperated sigh and gathered her up in his arms.

 

“I’ll sleep better at night knowing that twerp no longer has political capital and social influence.” Brienne snorted.

 

“She has like…12 and a half million twitter followers.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“One tweet could end your whole career.”

 

“How do you even know about twitter?” Jaime hummed, kissing her shoulder.

 

“Pod is teaching me. He likes to open all his lectures with social media posts from applicable film characters. Makes the kids laugh.” Brienne yawned so hard her jaw cracked but the fatigue started to melt the more he kissed at her neck. She let him draw her thigh back and over his own but she was the one to pick up his hand and slide it between her legs.

 

“Good morning indeed.” He licked a stripe up her neck and played with the seam of her sleep shorts, making her bite her bottom lip and hum. Her phone rang again. “Fuck off.” He hit decline and launched it blindly towards the closet.

 

“Jaime!” She shrieked with laughter, back handing his side.

 

“Oh that’s fresh!” There was a brief wrestling match in which she tried to fetch her phone and he tried to keep her in bed. They ended up shoving each other entirely off the bed, her straddling his hips. She was snorting with laughter as she planted her hands on his chest. “Did I hurt you?” He giggled, stroking her knees. They were half on the rug, half on the hardwood.

 

“No. Do you yield?”

 

“Mmm. Halfway.” He canted his hips up towards hers.

 

“What do you mean halfw- OH.” She bent over to kiss him on cue, seating herself a little more firmly. He groaned happily, yielding entirely to her mouth, hands, and direction.

 

~

 

They got slick, printed, and bound copies of all the writers in the order the chronological order they would be printed at the New Northerner. Sansa first. Brienne second. Then came Yara Greyjoy herself, Margaery Tyrell, Daenerys Targaryen, Missandei Grey, a high school student named Lyanna Mormont, and a sex worker who wrote in anonymously.

 

Brienne got copies for Jaime and the Goodwins so they could all see the final products before it hit the stands. Her childhood friends and chosen family from Tarth kept her on the phone for hours at a time, pouring out nothing but affection and enthusiasm. 

 

All together, the the written work was a masterpiece interrogation of rape and assault in Westeros. Power, law, age, race, and gender presentation were discussed. Issues in film, political arenas, academic institutions, public schools, prison, marriage, and isolated cultural practices like child marriage and bedding ceremonies were expounded. The stories were released to the public one week a time.

 

Brienne was exceedingly grateful for Sansa’s crash course in press management. Her piece ran in early October. Pod set up a tag system in her inbox to color coordinate and separate out important things (student and university communications) from that which an administrative assistant and a university PR department could address (requests for interviews, TV spots, photo shoots, inevitable backlash, and other stupid shite).

 

Somehow, by the grace of the gods, they made it through midterm exams. There was a week long break before the term resumed. Jaime surprised her with plane tickets to Tarth.

 

~

 

It was a bit too chilly for swimming. The trees were starting to burst into all sorts of brilliant flames of color. They walked on the beach and hiked, turning all their devices off for a few days and recharging with the cold, salty air. They spent long afternoons with Brienne’s beloved Uncle Goodwin on his back porch. The old man was delighted to see his former student and late best friend’s child. He served them both tall glasses of beer and endless plates of fresh bread and pretzels, homemade Tarth recipes, all hot from the wood stove.

 

“Have they come after you for writing about it?” He asked Brienne one day. Rain was tapping on the tin roof of the screened-in porch. Archie Goodwin was tucked in a rocking chair that used to sit on Selwyn’s back porch, bundled up in a scarf and shawl. She smiled.

 

“Critics? A bit. I haven’t been reading any of it.” She said. That was a lie. She read a few at first. It was like reading the facebook comments beneath any news article where individuals felt free to type words you prayed they didn't have the courage to utter in real life. Jaime let his fingers trace up and down her bicep, fingering the knit of her sweater before settling in the bend of her elbow. They were sitting on the porch swing. His arm was around her. There was a quilt across their laps.

 

“What about Bolton and his dogs?” Archie asked. 

 

“They’re suing the New Northerner for defamation.” Jaime piped up, “But it’s a lost cause. All his court appeals for dismissals and new trials were denied. There’s no grounds for libel or retraction. She told nothing but the well-sourced truth.” Brienne leaned into his side a little more, curling her legs beneath her and leaning her knees against his thigh.

 

“Good.” Archie breathed deeply, getting more comfortable as well. “I’ve been writing letters to the administration over at the prison. When he gets assigned a parole board, they’ll be getting quite the dossier from me.” Brienne smiled weakly. “How’s your head been, my girl?”

 

“Tired but relieved.” She admitted. “It feels like breathing freely for the first time in awhile.”

 

“I believe in few things as much as I believe in you, Dr. Evenstar.” Archie beamed. “I remember it so well, you sitting in my classroom, me losing my mind at how much like your father you already were. Brilliant and ahead of your time.”

 

“Uncle-“

 

“I’m serious. And I remember the day you came to me with such cold eyes, when the guidance counselor told you no woman from the Stormlands had taught at a higher level than K-12 or received a PhD. She wanted you to focus on getting into Tarth University for a teaching certification. You hadn’t even studied for the SATs yet but you asked me for a GRE prep book.” Jaime chuckled and held her a little tighter.

 

“Look at you now.” He said softly. Brienne sighed and kissed her partner’s cheek on impulse.

 

“The winds blew in my favor and I ran as fast as I could.”

 

“You worked so hard. I’m proud. So proud.” Archie emphasized. “You too Dr. Lannister.” He winked in Jaime’s direction. “You’ve come just as far sir, even if it took you a little longer.”

 

“A lot longer.” He tried to amend. Archie shook his head and laughed.

 

“You two are quite the matched set. It's like watching Selwyn and Brianna all over again.” The old man stroked his beard. “Never stop challenging each other. A good partnership pushes up and out, never in or down.”

 

“No problems there yet.” Brienne sighed.

 

“You were both high-born, but you’ve tasted the lowest lows that the gods dare invent.” Archie continued. “I’ve seen your shorthand. You’ve shared pieces of your love with us all here and there.” He mused a moment before wagging a finger at them. “I think it’s beautiful. Hold fast to each other, you two. Love is patient, kind, and healing but it isn’t invincible or bullet proof. If the waters ever feel too rough, you can always come home to us for help. We’re here for the both of you.” Brienne and Jaime exchanged a glance. He kissed her forehead. She stroked the back of his neck and then got up to embrace Archie.

 

“Thank you.” She murmured.

 

“When do you fly home again?”

 

"Saturday. Class starts up again Monday.” She answered, returning to Jaime’s side.

 

“Splendid. Let me take you out to lunch Friday. And I’ve just remembered…do call Gail when you get the chance. She won’t admit it, but she’s having quite the existential crisis lately.” Brienne suppressed a laugh at the mention of her childhood best friend.

 

“What about?”

 

“She’s thinking of proposing to Ann.”

 

“Oh…” Brienne faltered, shocked and amazed. Jaime wasn’t as good at swallowing his amusement.

 

“I’ll be damned!” He laughed, both at Brienne’s face and the thought of Gail really settling down. Brienne elbowed him in the ribs but Archie was laughing too.

 

“Wonderful, isn’t it? I think she could use some advice and soothing. She hasn't told anyone but me, not even AJ or Rosie. I haven’t been able to calm her heart about it yet. My anxious girl, she’s always been fussy about these things. I think she’ll listen to you two.”

 

“And why’s that?” Archie began to laugh so hard they thought he might cry.

 

“I raised my son and my niece quite well, I think. Well enough that they let me adopt Gail all on my own. But do remember that 3 poor women of valor wed, bed, and divorced me before I even put together my first crib.” Brienne groaned and covered her face with her hands as Jaime and Archie continued to crack up.

 

~

 

They ended up staying in Archie’s guesthouse that night. The old man practically brow beat them into it.

 

“Evenstar’s always have a change of clothes with them.” He accused. Jaime gave Brienne an amused look.

 

“She’s got me in the habit too.” He piled on.

 

“Go-bags are practical. Everyone should always use one. Especially when traveling.” She went to fetch their duffles from the rented jeep after dinner, which was a loud and lovely affair with Archie Junior, his wife Evelyn, and their brood of children. The three boys and little girl were obsessed with they Uncle Jaime, so Brienne wasn’t able to collect him until after sunset. If the children weren't wrestling with him or hanging off his arms asking to be curled and tossed like free weights, they were all trying to cram into his lap and chair for a story. He did do rather good voices. 

 

The accommodations were simple, but lovely. The log cabin was only one room with a big fluffy bed, a fireplace, some arm chairs, and an en suite. There were no electric lights, so they were left with candles and the open hearth. They lit both. For some reason, this one didn’t make their stomachs turn.

 

Jaime took a shower, singing drunkenly off key. She suppressed her mirth and started getting ready for bed, washing her face and stripping down.

 

“Not joining me?”

 

“Mmm. Not tonight. Try again in the morning.” She leaned on the sink and took a long look at herself in the slightly steamed up mirror. There were little laugh lines forming at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was tickling her shoulders these days, fulling hiding the undercut when she let it loose from a pony tail or bun. There was a natural wave and curl she forgot existed after so many years of cropping. She was still pale. Still freckled. Still plain. She still found her natural blush ever so unattractive. But something was different. Jaime poked his head out of the shower.

 

“Did I leave my panties on the bed?” He joked. She choked on a laugh as he turned off the shower and reached for a towel. She turned around and leaned on the counter, watching him towel off. He was still golden skinned. Still toned. Still gorgeous. His hair and beard were silvering ever so beautifully. He was also getting laugh lines. His cheeks were ruddy from the evening’s mix of hot water, alcohol, and rough housing with small children. He wrapped the towel around his waist and sauntered closer, nudging his chest up against hers. Hip to hip, thigh to thigh, brow to brow. He was still an inch or two shorter though. He smelled so goddamn good. “What is it, Bri?”

 

“I feel…different.”

 

“Is that bad?”

 

“No.” She kissed him. They lounged in bed. He softened considerably as she laid down with her head on his thigh. He stroked his fingers through her hair, tugging at the occasional tangle or twist of strands. She pressed her nose to his flannel pants, ones that definitely used to reside in the back of her own closet. “You’re dedicating your book to me.” She said, finally releasing a thought she had been considering for weeks now.

 

“Why is it we always save these sorts of conversations for bed?” He remarked. She laughed lightly, realizing they had fallen into a routine. He tickled her neck and side, trying to make her laugh again and more. Her cheek jerked down towards her shoulder and she gasped for breath between uncontrolled fits of it.

 

“Jaime!” He stopped in favor of wrapping his arms around her. She found herself cradled, head in the bend of his short arm. He doubled over to kiss her on the lips.

 

“Does it bother you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did it surprise you?”

 

“A little.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s soft. Even for you.”

 

“Hmmm. Your descriptions of me in the New Northerner were just as generous.” It dawned on her then. There were some lines in the conclusion of her article that came to mind: _My life was saved by my partner in more ways than one. I used to weep thinking of the debt I could never hope to repay. Our slow progression from strangers to begrudging friends to permanent fixtures in each other's lives has since taught me that our survival was a mutually beneficial engagement. Doing this alone might have broken me entirely. Instead I have found utterly depthless, unceasingly, and joyful love within myself, for myself, and for our lives together._

 

She had never mentioned Jaime by name, but certain details probably made it common sense for people affiliated with the Lannister family or Riverland University. They didn't have a spare one armed professor running around. The fire crackled warmly. She turned on her back so she could look at his face. The candles on the nightstand made him breathtaking. And it top it off…he looked utterly starstruck looking at her.

 

“You’re so beautiful.” She murmured. His thumb swept across her cheek.

 

“You’re gorgeous.” He whispered back.

 

“I believe you.” He seemed deeply touched by that response. She smiled, holding his hand to the side of her face and closing her eyes.

 

“Why do you feel different?” He asked again.

 

“I feel…mostly the same. But two feet to the left. Maybe the tectonic plates are finally shifting…maybe I realized the love you give me is not something I have to hide or protect. I'm proud of it. And it's strong enough to fend for itself, these days.”

 

“Nice.” She laughed again, pinching his stomach for the monosyllabic response. He sucked in a deep breath and giggled off the sting. 

 

"Say something nice." 

 

"Darling, darling, darling..." He kissed her between endearments, covering her face, holding her close. "Let's do this forever." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kind words and thoughtful comments really make my day. I have another story in mind to complete the "again and again" trilogy. Until next time! xoxo


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